As 2017 turns to 2018, I can't help but think about where I was during the last new year.

On New Year's Eve of 2016, I was at a small celebration with a couple of close friends. Though nothing seemed wrong on the outside, there was a fog in my mind. I felt inexplicably heavy as if an elephant was sitting on my chest. The idea of there being any sort of light outside of this fog seemed impossible.

Luckily, I was with people I was comfortable around. The mere idea of being with strangers or people I was trying to impress would bring chills down my spine.

Last year, I would spend hours before a social event sitting alone, shaking, heart racing, thinking about all the ways it could go horribly wrong.

From there I had two choices: Stay home and live in a puddle of guilt and depression or go and always feel the underlying panic.

I don't usually make new year's resolutions, but that year it was clear. I never wanted to feel like that again.

Of course, I did feel that way again and I might feel that way again in the future. But it was the start of a year-long process that brought me to where I am today.

Mental illness is always hard to describe to people. When you're physically ill, you can tell the doctor where it hurts and they can scan you to see what's wrong. With mental problems, all you have is metaphors to describe what the pain's like, but you can never explain exactly what it is.

People that have never experienced it tend to have trouble believing it's real. The first time I called my parents and told them I have social anxiety, they told me that everyone is anxious sometimes, but since I'm a sensitive person, the struggles of social interaction were hitting me harder. They said that all I had to do was will those feelings away, then I'd feel better.

I know that they meant well when they told me that, but once I hung up the phone, I immediately started sobbing. It hurt me to know that those closest to me couldn't understand what I was going through.

I laughed at the thought of "willing away" my anxiety. In reality, willing away a mental illness is about as easy as willing away the flu, or any other physical illness. You can't just march up to your sweaty palms, quickly beating heart, mental fog, and absolute inner panic and tell it to leave you alone. Believe me, I've tried.

I can't count the number of times I've felt the all-too-familiar panic set in and tried to tell myself "It's going to be fine. Nothing will hurt me." Inner demons don't listen to logic. They eat at your mind and refuse to let up for anything.

A little while after the new year began, I discovered a musical called "Dear Evan Hansen." The musical centers around a character with debilitating social anxiety. The first line of one of its most famous songs, "Waving Through a Window," goes "I've learned to slam on the brake before I even turn the key. Before I make the mistake. Before I lead with the worst of me."

I had to pause the song to have another crying fest.

This is exactly what it's like (at least for me). It's not a fear of making a mistake. It's a fear of making the mistake. It's always the same mistake. Making a fool out of yourself. Being alienated. Being made fun of. Why even try when you're so sure it's going to fail?

It was then that I finally decided to go to therapy.

I'm incredibly fortunate that my school offers free psychological counseling. I started by doing individual counseling sessions, then added group therapy into the mix.

Being in the group was an eye-opening experience. When you're struggling, it's easy to think that you're the only one struggling. But as another great "Dear Evan Hansen" song says, "you are not alone" and "you will be found," as clichéd as that might sound.

I'm still not 100% better, but I'm miles above where I was last year. Now, a life where I don't spend time panicking before going to a party seems attainable.

Now for some parting advice.

To friends/family of someone with a mental illness: Sometimes, there isn't really anything you can do except be supportive. And that's enough. Being validated and loved regardless of how horrible they feel on the inside is sometimes the greatest gift someone struggling can receive.

To people with mental illnesses: Don't let anyone tell you that what you're going through isn't real or that you're just being over-dramatic. You know yourself better than anybody else and you will know when something's just not right. Also, don't give up hope. Even if you can't see it right now, there is a way out of this. But before it can be over, you have to live through it. You've just got some more living to do!